


Let Me Entertain You

by HagSpice



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, K2 - Freeform, M/M, Nonbinary Tweek, OH YES THERE WILL BE SMUT, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Twenny BroTP, brief mentions of anti-Semitism, characters in their mid-late twenties, creek - Freeform, heidman, twyle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-28 21:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HagSpice/pseuds/HagSpice
Summary: Over his shoulder, Token offered a final word of encouragement. “Don’t fret, you never fail to impress. I’m sure the two of you will have suitors throwing themselves at your feet by the end of the evening... and Kenneth, welcome to the family!”Family. It had only been a few weeks, but he felt an affinity for this menagerie of gifted and talented misfits. “Hmm, I think our wise and benevolent leader may be right. We’re bound to catchsomeone’seye with what we have up our sleeves." Kenny paused to look Tweek up and down. "Well… tucked into our garters, in your case.”Denver, 1901. The Mile High City is bustling with industry, pumping out more banks, beer and brick than you can lay track for. Welcome to a Colorado where Tweek, Wendy, and Marjorine sing and dance their nights away in a burlesque hall, Kenny leads the band, and impresario Token stands at the head of it all. This is a simpler time where Craig and Stan are inventors in the new medium of electric light and sound, while Kyle is an aspiring poet and Cartman owns a textile factory.The gang’s all here. They have some old, and some new tricks, so come on down for a real good time.





	1. O Brave New World...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The South Park Victorian Burlesque AU that no one asked for. I know how completely cracked this is, truly, I do. What a concept for my first non PWP fic. I was a musician and a dancer for most of life and orchestration was one of my favorite subjects in college, so the idea of this story centering around music and performance is very dear to my heart. 
> 
> I'm taking liberties with historical things, I mean this is fanfic; what I'm using as my context is 1890-1915. Sanitation and hygiene were gross in Victorian times, so those aspects are definitely pushing 1920. As far as social issues go, I'm sticking to what revolves around self-expression and identity. I found much of my inspiration for historically appropriate music in Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox and the music in the game Bioshock Infinite. History is fun, kids.
> 
> Cori and Angel, thank you for your advice and letting me bounce ideas off you two when I came Tweeking into your DMs
> 
> Emma, you are my muse, my flame. I cannot thank you enough for encouraging me to really do this, for sitting through my drafts, giving me valuable feedback, and being the Heiman whisperer.

Crisp spring air swirled down the cobblestone street, pushing the dead leaves of winter to the gutters and trembling the virgin buds on the blooming trees. The Denver snow was gone for the time being and the slush had recently thawed to make way for the season of rebirth.

Standing under an electric street lamp, Craig absently brushed away a piece of windblown hair that had fallen across his forehead. The young engineer continued working; his graphite scratched across the page of his journal, only interested in the subject at hand. The contrast of the cool air on the sun warmed pavers and stone buildings created a corona of haze around the lights over the entrance to the burlesque hall he planned to enter.

Marquee: _Canto Luna_ [Italian?]  
Approximate elevation: 20’  
Incandescent globe bulbs spaced according to industry standards  
Bulb specs: Lumens: unknown; Kelvin temperature: 2000  
Satisfactory illumination at ground level, even distribution of light  
Recomm-

“Craig, seriously?”

Craig’s hand jerked and streaked a dark obnoxious line across the page. Furrowing his brows in annoyance, he looked up to see his friend and business partner Stan Marsh. 

“Just promise me you’re not taking notes on _people_. Someone will suspect you’re Jack the Ripper or something.” 

Craig’s grey eyes flicked up to Stan’s face then immediately back to the page. “Jack the Ripper committed murders in London, how is that relevant?”

Stan scoffed at Craig’s ambivalent tone. “Well, they were never apprehended, they might’ve came to the states, you never know!” 

Craig made a noncommittal grunt and continued to write. “We’re supposed to speak to Token tonight about possible improvements to the light and sound design. I’d like to look professional, so I’m reviewing their current setup.” 

“Yeah, I know we’re meeting with Token. Just maybe just ease up a little, man? We don’t want to overwhelm him with specs and ideas this early...besides, Kenny invited us here to _enjoy_ ourselves. Have a little fun?” Stan caught Craig’s gaze and blue and grey locked in a stalemate until Craig huffed and returned to his notes. He scribbled for a few more seconds, then tucked the pencil into the binding of his journal and closed it with a snap.

“Fine,” he said dryly, “Though I’m not exactly thrilled to see where Ruby works.”

“Craig, it’s a burlesque and dancehall, not a bordello,” Stan said with a roll of his eyes. “Besides, do you honestly think Kenny would let his sister work somewhere indecent?” 

For his entire adult life, Craig intentionally avoided the burlesque hall where his cousin Red worked. When his little sister Ruby and her friend Karen secured employment at the club, however; he deemed it his brotherly obligation to judge the place for himself. Karen and Ruby had met while working in a textile mill in town, and same as most other factories, the conditions were dangerous and the wages unsatisfactory. 

Ruby and Karen shared an apartment with Karen’s older brother Kenny, who played in the house band at the club; Kenny had kept an eye out for vacant positions for the girls so they could leave their jobs at the textile mill. Through this association, Kenny McCormick became part of their circle of friends. Craig would have immediately vetoed Ruby’s interest in the dancehall, had she not shakily recounted the story of how her coworker lost most of her fingers that day at the factory. 

“If I’m doing you the favor of enjoying myself this evening, I’m going to need something from you in return,” Craig leveled. Smirking, Stan waved his hand, urging Craig to continue. Craig narrowed his eyes. “Stan, do not get carried away tonight. I’m not carrying your inebriated ass home _again_.” A momentary look of shame fell over Stan’s face and Craig regretted his callous statement. Cringing, he tried to smooth things over. “I’m an asshole, sorry. I know you’ve been cutting back on your drinking.” Stan opened his mouth to reply, but grunted when a pair of burly arms locked him in a bear hug. 

“Gentlemen! Are you ready for a wild night of fun and debauchery?!” Clyde bellowed as he lifted Stan off the ground. Stan had a good four inches on Clyde, so it was quite a feat that he was able to get him airborne. Craig felt the corner of his mouth quirk in a smile as he watched his childhood friend shake his business partner like a ragdoll. 

“Please don’t embarrass me tonight, Clyde,” an unamused voice whined. A tall, slender, ginger man stepped up, turning their trio into a quartet. Glancing at the way Kyle’s red curls framed the sharp angles of his face, Craig mused that he would be quite stunning if he wasn’t so goddamn fussy all the time. 

Having escaped Clyde’s formidable grip, Stan straightened his vest. “Are we going in, or are we going to loiter all night? Come on, I’m ready for a drink,” he suggested as he strode to the doors. Wrapping his arms around Craig’s and Kyle’s shoulders, Clyde steered them toward the entrance. “Fine idea, my good man,” he beamed, “A fine idea, indeed.”

 

With a huff of exertion, Heidi set a rack of clean glasses on the counter before lining them up in front of the shelves housing their extensive liquor collection. Satisfied that they were decently stocked with barware for the next ten minutes or so, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and made her way to the bar to take drink orders. She looked up to see the elaborate filigree chain of a pocket watch catch the light as one of her regulars approached. 

Heidi greeted the man with a cheeky smirk, “Good evening, Mr. Cartman. What can I serve you?”

“First, my dear lady, call me Eric. Second, I’ll have your finest whiskey, one portion of ice.” 

Eric stood back from the bar, smiling expectantly at her. Even while out for an evening of entertainment at such a venue, he dressed in a dapper three-piece suit. The man had always oozed wealth and power, but in the months of taking his drink orders, Heidi began to see flashes of what lay beneath. There was something youthful and mischievous under that enamel of swagger, and though he seemed to toy with every person he interacted with, Heidi sensed that Eric was merely testing their mettle, hoping someday to meet his equal.

Heidi turned toward the long shelves of liquor to prepare the drink, blindly handing bottles and accoutrement over her shoulders as the other servers called out for them. After a small poke in the ribs, she looked down to find young Karen McCormick at her side, bashfully grinning. With a laugh, Heidi brushed the hair away from her face and gave Karen a wink. 

“Oh, alright. I suppose I can appease you. You’re starting to take after your brother, you know that? The two of you could charm Lizzie Borden into offering a full confession with just a bat of your lashes.”

Karen blushed, then held out an aperitif glass of clear liquor while clutching an extra-long kitchen match. She offered a small, “Thank you,” and stepped aside.

The glass in hand, Heidi took a large swig of whiskey into her mouth and Karen shooed the employees away from them. Giving a small nod, Heidi tipped her chin and Karen struck the match, holding it several feet above and in front of Heidi’s face. Taking advantage of the height of the fresh flame, Heidi blew a fine spray of liquor toward the match, shooting a stream of flames into the air.

She could have taken a bow or blown a flirty kiss into the cheering crowd as Kenny or Tweek may have done, but instead, she played it nonchalant. Over the years she learned that it only added to her allure and mystique to act as though spitting a five foot streak of fire into the air was as mundane as preparing a cup of tea. 

The swish of air jostled the curls that framed her face as she sharply spun on her heel and approached Mr. Car- _Eric_. Heidi delicately placed a linen napkin on the bar and presented the simple drink. “Whiskey, on the _rock_ , just as you like it.” 

“Was that,” he gestured behind the bar, “for _me_?” He gave Heidi with a wolfish grin, but the bravado couldn’t conceal his desire for it to be be at least partially true.

She flashed Eric an equally rakish grin, but shrugged, “If you’d like to think so, I can’t stop you.”

The man took his drink and moved to return to his table, still smiling; however, when Heidi thought their conversation was over, Eric glanced over his shoulder. 

“Well...either way, I’d enjoy seeing it again.” He tipped his glass in her direction and strolled away. 

Heidi kept her face blank until she turned around and strode to the back of the bar area. Karen slidled up beside her and bumped her hip. Heidi tried to hide her smile, but she was too late; Karen was practically giggling at her. 

“Don’t you dare say a thing, missy.”

 

This was... not what Craig expected. Plenty of staff members and patrons wore what would be considered scandalous for street clothing, but everyone seemed respectable enough; not dirty and brawling as he may have anticipated. The patrons varied in appearance, and mixed men’s and women’s clothing and hairstyles fluidly. People danced in unfamiliar ways, with some in close proximity to each other and quite sexual, but many danced without a partner in an unorganized fashion. Kenny had said this place was progressive, but the group still wasn’t entirely sure what to anticipate.

Craig was concerned when Ruby told him she was hired on. She was only twenty! He couldn’t stand the thought of unsavory characters pawing at her scantily clad body. But Red assured him that it was simply a burlesque and dancehall. The audience did not throw money at the stage, each performer could show as little or as much skin as they preferred, and anything sexual that may happen between patrons and employees was not part of business and strictly done on their own time. Craig, ever the skeptic, had remained dubious.

The walls and ceilings were painted a midnight blue, with gold stars stenciled across the ceiling, which gave the illusion of a night sky. Swaths of champagne colored satin hung from the ceiling and draped loosely down the walls adding a touch of opulence to the natural wonder of the heavens. A large arrangement of tables dotted the hall, the surfaces of which were littered with beverage glasses and small mercury glass votives housing lit candles. The flickering flames within the reflective glass created a dreamy effect which only added to the glamour of being under a moonlit sky. Rows of plush velvet booths lined either side of the room, many already occupied or touting a calligraphed card stating ‘reserved’. Nearing the stage, the tables became sparse, making way for the dance floor and orchestra pit.

Clyde glanced over his shoulder and called out to the group, “Kenny said he reserved a table for us. Should we find Ruby or Karen?” 

Stan squinted and glanced across the room. “Most likely, the girls will be near the bar.”

Sure enough, behind the heavy oak bar, a dark-haired man was stacking Ruby’s tray with glasses of various liquors. As the guys swung around the cluster of customers waiting to order their beverages, a willowy brunette woman blew a mist (of what was presumably alcohol) over a lit match held by none other than Karen McCormick. Once the mist met the flame, a jet of fire streaked several feet into the air above the young woman’s head. 

Stan smirked in amusement when Kyle took took a few steps back and scowled. “Don’t clutch your pearls so tight, man. You might crush them,” he laughed, earning a glare from Kyle.

Craig relaxed somewhat. Okay, maybe this place wasn’t so bad, at least he wouldn’t need to be discreet about his homosexuality; he might even meet someone appealing to spend some time with. No, scratch that. Getting romantically involved was not worth the trouble that accompanied it. Not that Craig ever had a proper relationship, but he knew enough to be wary and find better uses for his time. Like work. There was always work to be done.

By the time the group reached the bar, Karen bustled over to take their orders. Though the young woman had literally been playing with fire moments ago, Craig’s apprehension quelled when he noticed her dress. Karen wore a modern tunic-style gown in deep blue, trimmed in delicate fringe. Her chestnut hair was carefully curled and pinned at the nape of her neck, which further highlighted that she was no longer a child. With an enchanting smile that rivaled that of her brother, she greeted each of them in turn before pointing to a reserved booth on the left side of the hall. 

“That’s your table there. Kenny said you’d have a good view of his ‘best side’, but I’ll let you decide if that's true,” Karen rolled her eyes. She knew where the grand piano would be on the stage; and Kenny, whether truthfully or facetiously, had proclaimed his ass to be his best side. “I’ll take your drink orders and have Ruby bring them over in a minute.”

Being in large groups of people and interacting with them all night was tiring, but Karen took to it quite naturally. People respected her genuine kindness and refusal to put up with bullshit. “Though don’t expect my level of sterling service from your sister, Craig. She said you cheapskates wouldn’t cough up decent tips, so she wouldn’t try especially hard. Prove her wrong?”

Craig snorted a little laugh. “Yep, sounds like my sister.”

 

While they settled into their booth, the voice of the emcee carried over the din of the burlesque hall. Kenny had mentioned this to be his predecessor and the owner of the establishment, Token Black. The man he and Stan were meant to speak with at the end of the evening

“Canto Luna family, please extend your warmest greetings to the dark and dazzling _Bijou Noir_.”

Kenny had confessed that he hoped to make up with in cheek and humor, for what he lacked in Token’s poise. He passed it off as humor; however, Craig knew Kenny was just as susceptible to insecurity as anyone else. For all of Ken’s bluster, Craig was touched to have such a stalwart friend to him and surrogate brother to Ruby. 

The navy blue velvet curtain parted for a statuesque woman in a fitted black suit. Her long black hair was piled high on her head and cascaded into curls that ran down her neck. Craig didn’t have eyes for women, but he still knew a knockout when he saw one. Standing gracefully at the microphone, she sang along to a gentle waltz sprinkled with flourishes of a glockenspiel. It was surprisingly ordinary.

With a shout from the singer, the tempo picked up and volume increased tenfold as the entire brass section jumped in. _Ah there it is_ , Craig smiled to himself. _Wouldn’t want to be traditional, now would we?_

As she moved across the stage with elegant extensions of her limbs, he noticed that the woman, Bijou Noir, wore nothing under her jacket. Yet as she danced, her lapels remained over her breasts.

“She must be a witch,” Clyde chuckled, lightly ribbing Craig with his elbow. 

Realizing he was gawking, Craig turned his focus to Clyde and smirked. “Apparently so.”

They both startled at a loud _clack_ on the table.

“Two gin and tonics; whiskey, neat; and a Manhattan. I don’t know who ordered what, but I hope you’re capable of sorting that out yourselves.” Ruby plunked the glasses down in the middle of the table and raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

Craig looked up to see that Ruby had indeed found their table. Briefly, he and Clyde shared a look, and from the misty appearance to his friend’s brown eyes, Craig knew that Clyde was also realizing that yes, little sisters did not, in fact, stay little forever. As she served her big brother alcohol at a burlesque club, Craig had to forfeit any doubt that she was a grown woman. 

She had fastened her strawberry blonde hair at the nape of her neck and coiffed it into a shining wave. Her outfit was something akin to foxhunting attire, yet keenly different. A cropped hunting jacket in forest green houndstooth with short, ivory silk bloomers, and dainty riding boots. The look reminded Craig of some Greek goddess who was an archer or hunter, and he tried to recall the name. Diana? Artemis? Certainly, no one would dare to offer unwanted advances to this fierce young woman.

“Yeah. I think we can manage that,” Stan replied, while he pushed the right drink to each person. “Thanks, I guess?”

Craig reached into his pocket and fished around for some money, and dropped the folded bill on her serving tray. As Ruby made to take it, he put his hand over hers. “We’ll be here all night. We’ll need drinks all night,” he deadpanned. 

Ruby rolled her eyes and nodded, and only then did Craig release her hand. “Of course, I’ll be back to freshen your drinks, shortly,” she simpered. 

As Ruby turned to hustle away, she shot Craig a sly grin and gave him the old one-finger salute.

“Darlings, you made it!” 

_For fuck’s sake, is it going to be one person after another this entire goddamn night?_ Craig felt his eye twitch. Taking a long pull of his drink, he tried to think of a reason to be sour at Kenny. _Nope, nothing. Fine, that chipper little pollyanna is off the hook this time._

Kenny swept a hand across their shoulders as he jogged behind their booth. With his trademark grin and the enthusiasm rolling off him like fog, he was damn near vibrating. He had recently inherited the position of house bandleader, this being the week for him to transition into the role. In addition to conducting a portion of the musical sets, Kenny would also play as accompanist for solo ballads. However, in his usual fashion, good ole Ken had a few surprises for his friends.

“The next round’s on me, so go wild. I have a few sets on deck, but I’ll come see you when I can.”

Kyle jumped as Kenny rested his chin on top of his head, and despite his efforts, he couldn’t stave off the blush that bloomed on his pale, freckled face.

“Are you on soon?” Craig nodded toward the stage. “Don’t you need to ‘warm up your instrument’ or something pretentious like that?”

Kenny glanced at the stage as the curtain closed on ‘Maraschino Maven’ and the band began to vamp over the stage change. “Hmm the set after this one.” Shifting his tone, Kenny dramatically swept his hand over his body. “Craig dearest, my _body_ is my instrument. My strings are always taut and thrumming, just waiting to be plucked.” As he waxed poetic, Kenny drummed his fingers over Kyle’s shoulders, pleased that he didn’t startle this time.

Craig made an unamused face, Kyle remained as stiff as a freshly starched shirt, and Stan barked out a laugh. _Well, at least someone here has a sense of humor._

“Damn, Ken. That was uh… something,” Clyde attempted, before giving into the laugh he tried to cover.

“Well, gotta go backstage, I’ll see you gentlemen after a bit. Don’t forget, come backstage after the show. I’ll introduce you to my dearest friend and accomplice.” Before walking away, however; Kenny hovered next to Craig’s ear. “ _Enjoy_ , Craig.”.

Craig narrowed his eyes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Kenny pointedly ignored Craig’s question, and instead turned to the rest of the group. “Just wait for Penina to take the stage, and there I’ll be.” He sauntered off, giving a wave of his hand in their direction.

Clyde furrowed his brows in confusion. “What’s a ‘penina’?”

“No idea,” Stan shrugged.

Kyle released a sigh of relief as Kenny walked away, then took a sip of his drink. “It means ‘pearl’,” he muttered under his breath.

After several minutes of idle conversation, Kyle still felt anxious; it was something he rarely felt. He was prone to spells of aggression or obsessiveness, but he almost always knew what he wanted- indecision was unfamiliar. He relied on instinct and intuition, even if he never called it that by name. This was one of the reasons he and Craig respected each other, they had strong opinions that wouldn’t be swayed without strong reason. Upon draining his drink, he decided to distract himself. Sliding out of the booth, Kyle muttered a vague excuse and received an equally vague acknowledgement from his friends.

 

Kenny turned and walked backstage, smiling to himself. He certainly was in a jaunty mood this evening. Giving his friends little nudges in the right direction was quite rewarding indeed. His beloved friend Tweek needed someone stable and attentive in their life, and Tweek (as long as they didn’t fall into old patterns) should be a nice burst of excitement and affection for Craig. If Kyle was still absolutely oblivious to his flirtations, perhaps he could at least get those two together. 

He briefly considered that maybe he had incorrectly estimated Kyle’s proclivities. He’d noticed Kyle’s covert glances, and previously thought with confidence that his gaze was more than platonic; and coupled with the way his pale face tended to redden when Kenny gave him small touches, he thought he was on the right trolley.

Kenny shook the thoughts from his head, wishing that at times like this he could channel an ounce of Craig’s obsessive focus. He found Token waiting in the wings, preparing to reenter the orchestra pit after the instrumental set led by the house drummer.

“Having second thoughts?”

Token chuckled and shook his head incredulously. “Not as many as I should, honestly. This _is_ supposed to be the beginning of my transition to only managing the business side of things, but somehow I feel as though my children have stolen my brand new automobile and taken it on a joy ride.”

As Token spoke, Tweek approached them, ready to begin the next set. As their impresario shared their mild trepidation, Tweek’s fingers began to twitch.

“I-it’s okay that we’re doing this right? We didn’t pressure you too much, did we?

“You didn’t strong-arm me, not all. You scoundrels don’t have _that_ much power over me, don’t flatter yourselves. It’s just… difficult for me to relinquish control.” Token gave Tweek a fond smile, expecting them of all people to understand. Tweek and Token had attended preparatory school together, and by this point were well-acquainted with each others idiosyncrasies. 

Unconvinced, Tweek nervously bit at their lip. “But, it’s _ngh_ not too much is it?” 

Kenny laughed and stoked Tweek’s back. My dear, it is _entirely too much_ , which is why it’s perfect.”

Over his shoulder, Token offered a final word of encouragement. “Don’t fret little pearl, you never fail to impress. I’m sure the two of you will have suitors throwing themselves at your feet by the end of the evening.” His words grew quiet as he made his way down the stairs to join the band. “...And Kenneth, welcome to the family!” 

_Family._ Despite Token’s perennial casualness, Kenny knew the sincerity of his words; orphans were not ones to treat such a thing with flippancy. It had only been a few weeks, but he felt an affinity for this menagerie of gifted and talented misfits. Moreover, he spent every day with his little sister and his best friend- _both_ his siblings. “Mmm, I think our wise and benevolent leader may be right. We’re bound to catch _someone’s_ eye with what we have up our sleeves. Well… tucked into our garters, in your case.” Kenny paused to look Tweek up and down. “Speaking of which, you look a bit too dignified this evening.”

Tweek took a moment to assess themself. Slim-cut suit vest, tap shorts, visible garters, leather soft shoes. _Oh yes, visible undergarments are so dignified._ With a roll of their eyes and a playful shove, Tweek retorted, “I have a wardrobe change before the second song. Bebe’s orders.”

“Did you see Karen yet?” He offered Tweek his elbow and steered them toward the prop carts. 

Tweek squeezed Kenny’s arm and pressed their face into his shoulder. “ _Yes!_ Our little girl looks _ngh_ so grown up. I know s-she’s twenty one, but _rrgh_ I c-can’t _ngh_...” They trailed off, clamping their jaw shut against their verbal tics. _Not now, do not fucking do this now._ Tweek unconsciously drew their hands to their hair, sinking their nails into their scalp.

“Bebe will have words for you if that Marcel Wave doesn’t make it to the end of the night,” Kenny deflected, coaxing tweek’s arms down. 

Kenny rushed ahead of Tweek, grabbing Tweek’s mandolin and cradling it against his ear to tune it, while Tweek climbed the small ladder to a hanging prop. As they busied themself getting situated, Kenny frowned, considering how to redirect his agitated friend. One of Tweek’s tics brought his attention back to the stage. The prop master, Scott, had done a wonderful job with the piece. Tweek perched on a large crescent moon, framed with vellum. The bulbs hidden inside made a soft glow against Tweek’s silhouette. _A moon, how apropos._

“Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, that tips with silver all these fruit tree tops—”

Tweek’s face scrunched in confusion before falling into a grin. “O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon! That monthly changes in her circle orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.”

“What shall I swear by?”

“Do not swear at all. Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,” Tweek pat Kenny’s head with a laugh.

Kenny returned the mandolin to Tweek, then gave one of the suspension ropes three tugs. As the fabricated moon rose above the stage, Tweek waved down at him. “See you soon.”

He nodded. “I’ll be the guy at the piano.”

 

Craig didn’t know much about music, but he could tell the band and soloists were _good_ and that it must be a coup for Kenny to secure his position. The evening was actually turning out quite enjoyable. He wasn’t one to dance, not that he’d ever really tried, but he almost felt a pull to relax into the show on the dancefloor with the other patrons. Perhaps if a hypothetical dream partner persuaded him, Craig might have given it a try. Tucking into subsequent rounds of beverages, Stan, Clyde, and Craig shared a look as the emcee began to announce they next set. Soon, they would see just what Kenny had been up to recently.

“Now that the evening is in full swing, we present to you, without further introduction, the incomparable, Penina.” 

As Token finished the introduction, Craig thought he heard a smirk in his voice.

The heavy velvet curtains parted to leave a soft glow of light. Opaque bulbs hung sporadically over the stage to look like stars and over stage left, a crescent moon floated. It was a simple and charming effect. As the moon lowered, Craig noted the wires that ran along the suspension ropes toward the ceiling, undoubtedly connecting its lights and the microphone to the power source above.

It was a decent set up, they really had done fine job what with they had. Of course, he and Stan could design something even better. _Perhaps some shields of some kind to direct the sound toward the stage? Fabricate a condenser of sorts to pick up the vocalist more efficiently. Suspend mics over the stage to copy frequent movement patterns of the dancers._ Craig reached for his journal, ready to jot down his ideas, but the soft strums of a mandolin melted away his thoughts of work, as his eyes moved to the performer above the stage.

At first, Craig only saw a dark silhouette reclined in the curve of the faux moon, but while the prop descended, the mandolin player began to sing a gentle melody. It was a sweet, lulling tune that belied the melancholy words that accompanied it, creating a bittersweet mixture that seemed to satisfy a craving that Craig wasn’t aware he had. 

Lyrical and honeyed enough to swiftly sing an infant to sleep, their voice also held a worn and slightly husky quality that encouraged Craig to imagine how it may feel to have those lips brushing against his ear. Abruptly, he recalled, _this is Kenny’s dearest friend_. Then he remembered where he was. A burlesque club. _This is what people do here, it’s supposed to be… evocative; this isn’t just for_ my _enjoyment._

Sustaining a delicate tremolo, Penina hopped to the stage, and as their feet touched the wood inlay, they fluidly pivoted into a series of pirouettes. The second they hit center stage, the footlights switched on and the band roared in. The soothing lullaby transformed into a reeling tavern song when the nasal chorus of muted trumpets and trombones slid into the fray, sounding almost celebratory.

Penina continued to strum and sing as they danced between the microphones, and now, Craig finally got a good look at the performer. Their shining blonde hair was set in deep waves and the stage lights threw shadows of contrast that showed off the definition of their muscular thighs, but did not diminish the pleasant layer of softness that enveloped them. For the first time in his life, Craig found himself musing over someone’s thighs; though it was hard not to do so, when their skimpy shorts exposed all but a few scant inches of their legs.

Craig considered what age they may be. Their face had a bright, youthful quality; however, their expressions revealed a certain level of wisdom. _Well, if they’re Kenny’s age, they could be four, maybe five years older than me?_ They longer he stared at the singer, the more he noticed. Their eyes were a pale, earthy green, but were they hazel? And despite the ethereal quality of their skin, purplish marks sat beneath their eyes. His observations only raised more questions. Craig was an engineer; he figured things out, that was his purpose. He didn’t appreciate the lack of resolution.

Gripping their mandolin by the neck, Penina bounded off the stage to join the band, singing to the drummer and bumping him with their hip before capering over to Token. The impresario took their hand to spin them clockwise several times, then counter clockwise to detangle them from the mic cable. Levering themself on the edge of the saxophonists chair, they vaulted back onto the stage to close the song.

It wasn’t a sexy performance, but it was unequivocally sensual, bewitching, even. That’s what made it; their seemingly endless energy, passion and the total command of the room. A live-wire like that would usually exhausted him, and tended to be all flash and no substance; however, Craig couldn’t imagine a vapid person would be a lifelong friend to Kenny McCormick. As the curtain closed Craig vaguely registered himself applauding with the rest of the audience. He was…more invested in the performance than he thought he would be.

Craig returned from his thoughts as the seat cushion bounced and Kyle sat down with a huff.

“Well, well. I thought we’d lost you.”

Shaking his glass, Kyle gave Stan a blank look. “I um, went to freshen my drink, and ran into an old schoolmate.”

“Nice!” Clyde chirped, as he gave him a slap on the back.

Kyle uttered a noncommittal sound as Token’s voice overtook the room.

“My my, our precious jewel of the ocean is ready for round two. What devotion! What _stamina_!” The curtain began to raise, revealing the legs of a grand piano. “Oh, and what’s this? Dear Penina has brought a playmate. Behave, you two.” Token pointed a warning finger at Kenny and Tweek as he muted his microphone, preparing for his cue.

Kyle ignored how the astringent juniper stung his sinuses, downing his gin until it was nearly gone, and slapped the glass on the table. Of fucking course he’d have the luck to run into someone who knew him from when- Kyle looked up at the stage and his face went white. 

_Oh no no no. Not possible! No fucking way. Tweek???_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs  
> Tweek "Penina": _Holland 1945_ by Neutral Milk Hotel  
>  Wendy "Bijou Noir": _It's Oh, So Quiet_ by Bjork
> 
> Historical context things: wooden pencils, Jack the Ripper, Mass-manufactured automobiles, Lizzie Borden, tap shorts, Marcel Wave, microphones 
> 
> Slang: knockout, live-wire, dolled up, cheapskate, yep 
> 
> I'm hagspice on tumblr, come say hello!


	2. ...That Has Such People In It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this chapter took forever to finish! I had a serious block for a couple weeks _and_ kept shaming myself for not writing anything for Kinktober. I plan to update every other week and occasionally weekly, because I am slow. This chapter is short, but chapter length will vary over the course of the story; longer chapters being 8-10k words.
> 
> Heads up: I chose to have Kyle change his last name from something Polish to German after he finished school, to avoid anti-semitism. Canonically, Kyle perceives morals to be tightly bound with his identity, and struggles with how his faith/culture fits into that. I'm Jewish. And queer. All that I write on the matter comes from my experiences and research, and I handle these topics with reverence. 
> 
> Anyway...enjoy!

Why did Kyle agree to come here? Probably because he couldn’t say no to Kenny. Especially after the charming bastard had pulled a pout and beseechingly took hold of Kyle’s hand, when he anticipated a decline to this outing. So there he sat, in an establishment of questionable repute, drink in hand. Kyle sighed. He should be in a calm music hall, where impeccably dressed patrons waltzed to genteel melodies. He had no real desire to actually go to such a place, but it would be beneficial to be seen there.

God, Kenny kept offering him little touches as he walked by or as they talked, and every time, Kyle was only able to freeze like a frightened deer. His own inability to do anything remotely flirtatious was the only thing holding him back. He probably wouldn’t even need to do much. Just lean into the touches a little, maybe be the one to initiate it a time or two. Certainly, if he made a move on Kenny, the most negative reaction he would get would be Ken asking why the hell it took Kyle so damn long. 

There was nothing overtly suggestive in the ministrations, but there was enough for Kyle to know it wasn’t platonic. Which meant that if he didn’t reciprocate in some manner, and soon, Kenny would move on. A pang of jealousy prodded his gut. Jealous of who? Some faceless potential partner who could actually give Kenny what he deserved? Yes, they sounded quite dreadful.

Kyle had never been comfortable with suggestive quips and furtive glances. He preferred directness, a declaration of intent followed by action. He wasn’t fond of the games of glorified mating rituals he was expected to perform; it seemed tedious, and vaguely hinting at one’s feelings left too much room for misunderstandings. That is not to say, that Kyle was opposed to romantics, but that he believed bold tenacity to be most charming. 

But what did Kyle really know of boldness? He only managed that with lovers when behind closed doors, or during heated debates. Moreover, his pride and cowardice lead him to cover the foundation of who he was. Uniqueness was well and good to an extent; however, standing out only brought judgement.

The conversation and music continued around him, and however much Kyle tried to focus on his friends, his mind insisted on rebelling. His pulse throbbed heavily in his ears  
So after draining his beverage, he excused himself.

Kyle meandered between the tables and groups of socializing patrons with no coherent idea of how he was going to clear his head. He settled for heading to the lavatory to wash his hands and splash some water on his face. The enameled porcelain sink was blessedly cool against his palms, and after making sure he was alone, he bent forward to let his forehead join his hands. In the quiet of the tiled room, Kyle took several rounds of deep breaths; and after a minute he stood, straightened his hair, and smoothed his vest. He entered the hall in a much more collected state and prepared to rejoin his friends, when a broad, well dressed man stepped into his path.

“Excuse me, I believe we’ve met before, but I can’t recall the context.”

Kyle gazed at the man in surprise. He hadn’t even spoken, yet he felt trapped. “I don’t believe so,” he replied curtly, ready to escape back to his table.

The man caught his arm. “Broflovski! I can’t believe it, I haven’t seen you in years!” 

The man’s eyes lit up and Kyle felt as though a stone had dropped into his stomach. Realizing he was cornered, he made eye contact with them. _Goddammit_. Yes, trapped like an animal. Ah, Eric Cartman, his classmate and quasi-friend from boarding school. 

“Oh...um, Eric?” 

He smiled wide, flashing his teeth, which could have been mistaken for sweet if you had never met Eric Cartman before. “That’s right _Kyle_ , I can’t believe you remembered after all this time.”

“It’s uh, Bergmann, actually. You must have confused my name with another classmate; it has been a while, after all.”

Kyle barely held back a cringe. God he hated this. He managed to only need to perform this correction a handful of times, and with enough confidence and a change of subject, he was able to redirect the unwitting party. But, Eric Cartman was far too cunning for such a ruse. Kyle prayed to the god he pretended not to know, that his old schoolmate would accept the deflection.

“Yes, _of course_. My apologies, I must have mixed you up with another redhead named Kyle.” 

This certainly was Eric Cartman; the sardonic boy who constantly toed the line of antagonist and ally. Kyle was surprised that he didn’t wink or tap the side of his nose conspiratorially. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” _Fuck, I suppose I should attempt to be polite. For a moment, anyway._ “What brings you here this evening?”

“How good of you to ask! I am a man of the cloth- no I didn’t join the clergy -we both know I’m far too ambitious for such a humble life! I own the textile mill that outfits this establishment for its costuming and decorative needs. I drop by on occasion to admire the quality of my products and enjoy some exotic entertainment. Burlesque is all the rage in Paris, you know. We must keep up on trends.” 

“Indeed... So, a businessman? I’d expect no less of you.”

“And you, Kyle, how do you spend your days? Since I can see how you spend your nights.” Eric shot him a playful grin that made Kyle’s eye twitch.

“I’m an editor at _The Post_ , and I sporadically publish in journals for fictional writing.” Poetry, he wrote poetry. Not that he was keen to admit that, with all the speculation that surrounded the works of Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman. Kyle cleared his throat. “Well, I should get back to my friends. Good to see you Eric.”

Eric clapped him on the back. “I won’t keep you then. Do stop by and visit me, I’d love to talk with you more.” Upon slipping a calling card into Kyle’s hand, Eric nodded and strode away.

Of all people, _Cartman_. Kyle had always kept him at a distance, but close enough to remain in his favor. A mercurial temperament and fierce sense of self-preservation, made him a dangerous enemy to have; but at the same time, he could be a loyal friend when he wanted to do so. Why couldn’t Kyle have bumped into a benign acquaintance? Someone whose curiosity could be quelled with a few generic questions. He would need to call upon Eric in the near future, otherwise he was likely to hunt Kyle down himself. Dazed and distracted once again, Kyle approached the bar.

 

The second the velvet curtains closed, Tweek rushed to the back of the stage, where Bebe was waiting with the costume rack. Garments passed between them rapidly with well practiced snatches and tosses to prepare for the second song.

“Just drop it all on the floor, I’ll pick it up later- we only have 20 seconds!”

“I know! This was _your_ idea, remember?!”

“Well, don’t listen to me next time!” Bebe squawked as she practically ripped Tweek’s vest open.

Tweek yelped and protectively crossed their arms over their pierced nipples. “ _GAH!_ The fuck, Bebe?!”

“Sorry, sorry! Are those still healing?” She pointed at Tweek’s chest.

“They’re healed, just sensitive. I wasn’t expecting you to rip my tits off.”

Bebe gently pulled Tweek’s arms up and slipped a beaded shift over their head. “An accident, truly.” Bebe flashed them a contrite look before turning to grab a pair of shoes. “And what do you mean ‘tits’ you’re as flat as a washboard, Tweek,” she razzed.

Tweek stepped into the low heeled shoes just as Bebe squatted down to buckle them.

“Yeah, but it would still _hurt_ ,” they pouted.

Taking a few steps back, Bebe assessed her work, and after smoothing a hand over Tweek’s hair, she nodded her head. “No grousing, get out there and have a good time!” Then she turned Tweek around and gave them a swat on the ass and a nudge toward the piano.

After a deep breath and a resolute nod, Tweek stepped across the stage. Costumes, microphones, musical instruments; they were armor. Even when stripped down to their bare skin, the audience only saw what Tweek wanted to show them. Sometimes a coy maiden, sometimes a demanding debauchee. Make them dance, make them swoon, but Tweek was always in control. Penina was a Svengali of earthly delights, offering a buffet of sensual pleasures for the price of adoration.

As Scott and Kenny rolled the grand piano to a stop, Scott whipped around to detach a microphone stand and passed it to Tweek. Before he could scurry off to the wings, Tweek squeezed his shoulder and pointed the prop moon, which was rising into the rafters. 

“It was perfect! I didn’t fall to my death!” Scott grinned and shot Tweek a salute, and while he jogged over to the curtain pulls, Tweek called after him, “Oh! And Karen’s bringing you food, so sit your ass down and eat it, mister!” 

Kenny jumped up from his bench and scurried around the side of the piano. Fuck, he wasn’t used to these frantic stage changes and he nearly forgot to prop the lid open. Kenny lifted the lid and felt around for the lid prop, but Tweek flicked his fingers and shooed him away. 

“ _Ugh_ , but I like the way it sounds!” he complained.

In response, Tweek blew a raspberry at him and climbed onto the piano. “Nope. Mine,” they crowed.

Kenny was poised to retort, but cut himself off as Token’s voice came over the sound system.

 

Kyle slid into the booth as the curtain raised, and after setting his drink on the table, looked up at the stage. Despite the flood of alcohol he had just poured down his throat, he felt the warmth drain from his face in an icy wash. _Oh no no no. Not possible! No fucking way. Tweek?_

Stan nudged Kyle and inclined his head toward the stage. “That’s Kenny’s friend, the one he mentioned earlier. You missed their first song.”

Fragments of memories invaded Kyle’s senses as he watched Tweek sprawl over the piano. Freckled limbs intertwined. The atonal chords of a body falling across piano keys. Long graceful fingers twisting in his curls.

 _This is the friend Kenny talked about?_ Stealing a glance at the group, it seemed no one had noticed his near-aneurysm, though Craig was staring at the stage like the piano had a complex calculus equation painted on it. Kyle reached for his glass, holding it with a vice-like grip and took several large gulps. It didn’t have the calming effect he hoped it would. _Goddammit, there isn’t enough booze in all of Colorado to help me deal with this bullshit._

Clyde leaned in. “Yeah, leave it to Ken to introduce us to someone this way.”

"Uh huh." Kyle nodded stupidly and continued to stare vacantly at the stage. 

Kenny sat at grand piano on center stage, with his shirtsleeves rolled to elbows and the first couple buttons of his shirt unfastened. He looked like he was ready to get down to business, or rather, he had concluded his business for the evening and was already on his way to a bash. Tweek was lounging across the piano, looking out into the room with the entitlement of Cleopatra, queen of the fucking Nile. The silver beading on their short white shift caught the platinum tones of their hair as they canted their head at the band. Tweek gave Token, who shook his head incredulously, a tight nod and launched the band into a quick-tempoed song. 

As the first few bars of the introduction flew by, Tweek rolled onto their back. Hanging their head over the edge of the piano, they cast their hooded gaze into the audience. From this position, Kyle was absolutely sure. _Fuck. It’s them._ It had been quite a while, but he clearly remembered Tweek’s pale green eyes teasing him, those pink lips wrapped around- _DO NOT GO THERE._

How long had it been? Almost eight years? At this point, the Tweek that Kyle knew was only a fantasy, the years having distilled his former lover into an amalgamation of his fondest memories. They must be different people by now. Kyle certainly thought about them on occasion, especially when sleep eluded him and his dick throbbed with neglect. But occupying the same room again, seeing Tweek cavorting with the man he was infatuated with? He spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to simultaneously rationalize and erase what they shared, and now it was shoved in his face. 

A sheen of cold sweat broke across his brow, and as the song continued, Kyle clasped his hands in front of his mouth in a preemptive play to cover any expression that may betray him. Tweek always had an almost sickly pallor. Now, they still had the same dark circles under the eyes, but aside from that, their skin practically glowed. The most interesting change in Tweek’s appearance, however, was their dazzling aura. Once a waifish bird of ephemeral presence, Tweek stood strong and toned, but not without an inviting softness. Whatever their regiment was, it did wonders for their physique, especially their ass.

_Godfuckingdammit, stop thinking about Tweek’s ass._

Okay, so he had to stop focusing on Tweek, if he wanted to survive the evening. So… Kenny. Yes, he was here to see Kenny, the (albeit secret) object of his affection. Kenny McCormick, the man he fantasized about being with, who was best friends and currently onstage with Tweek Tweak, Kyle’s former (and also secret) lover. Great. Grand. Everything was going swimmingly. He just needed to stir some arsenic into his next drink to bring the night to a fitting end.

 

Craig swallowed hard, as Penina pressed their palm to one of their cheeks. The image was the visual definition of the word ‘coquettish’. Then they slid their hand down their neck, chest, and past that, Craig couldn’t see… but, he could imagine. Their first performance was eye catching; however, this song was sex on legs. It bypassed suggestive and went straight to explicit. He was feeling things without his consent as his somatic system pumped chemicals through his body in attempt of a coup. Craig found it deeply unsettling; he was there to support his friend and work. Not whatever the hell he was currently doing.

Unfortunately, Craig’s discomfort only increased as Penina crawled across the piano toward Ken, serenading him like a siren. The muscled contours of their biceps and thighs stood out in the stark lighting, and when they leaned over the keyboard and shook their golden head, a strap of their frock slipped down their shoulder. They were stunning, mesmerizing. Even if every detail of each movement was choreographed, it didn’t change how brilliant they were- how they and Kenny were together. Craig pried his tensed jaw open and took a healthy swig of his drink.

_“Okay, you’re kind of sexy, but you’re not really special!”_

At that line, Kenny feigned disappointment and clutched a hand to his heart. Grinning with pure glee, Penina hopped off the piano, to face the crowd. 

_“But I won’t mind if you take me home, come on take me home. I won’t mind if you take off all your clothes, come on take ‘em off.”_

Craig, Stan, Clyde, and Kyle shared looks of shock. If they had been wearing monocles, they surely would have fell to the floor and shattered in their surprise. Well, no one seemed to be offended, if the cheers and whistles that erupted around the hall were any indication. 

_“Because I like you so much better when you’re naked. I like me so much better when you’re naked!”_

Stan’s mouth hung open. 

Kyle blinked. 

Craig looked on in shock; his lips parted and eyebrows raised. He wasn’t terribly surprised that Kenny would have his hand in something like this, he’d always been liberal, but this was clearly just as much their idea as it was his. Once again, Craig was presented with more questions about Kenny’s alluring friend. 

“Can. Can they say that… _in public?!_ It’s obscene!” Clyde was somewhere between horrified and excited.

Ruby trotted up to their table, serving tray pressed to her chest as she cackled, “Ooh, I can’t believe they talked Token into this! Kenny and Tweek really outdid themselves, I can’t wait to see what else they can get away with!” 

Leaning over the back of their booth, Ruby sighed, “Can I get you assholes anything while I’m here?” 

_Tweek. Their name is Tweek._ Craig leaned back, but kept his eyes on the stage; he held his glass over his shoulder toward his sister, not looking at her. “Manhattan, same as last time,” he said blankly. 

Rolling her eyes, Ruby shot back, “Yes, your highness.” 

Kyle looked down at his empty glass. “Thank god! Ruby, what took you so long?,” he snapped his head toward her. “Whiskey, the good stuff.”

 _What a surprise, Kyle is wound up._ As his friends gave Ruby their requests, Tweek’s eyes swept over the crowd. Upon reaching his table, their eyes met for a scant second, and then to Craig’s utter disbelief, this Tweek _winked_ at him. At least he was pretty certain it was directed at him. That was a good thing, right? A manner of compliment? He couldn’t recall ever being winked at before. Craig looked to his friends, wondering if they had seen it; however, Stan and Clyde were trying to convince Kyle of which whiskey was best, as Ruby propped her chin against her serving tray and closed her eyes in boredom.

Outwardly unaffected, Tweek didn’t miss a beat and continued to flit around the stage, their beaded dress twinkling under the lights. They stopped next to Kenny, who lifted an arm to let them shimmy up to the keyboard. Planting the microphone on the piano, Tweek grinned back at Kenny and teased, “Spread ‘em Ken Doll.” 

Kenny laughed as he spread his knees to make room for Tweek on the bench. Perching on the edge, they reached up and started banging out a counter line above Ken’s right hand while the two of them swatted at each other, fighting over the bass line. The song fell into a driving refrain. The crash symbol was relentless, and though the chorus is merely repeating the same sentence about nakedness, it felt like it was building to some sort of explosive ending. _Fucking hell, this is so sexual._

The song came to a close after a particularly spirited drum fill and a mighty crashing of cymbals. Tweek threw an arm around Ken’s waist, pulling him to their chest. Laughing, Kenny pulled back to kiss their cheek. 

Craig observed their affectionate gestures with curiosity. Wait, were they together? If so, Kenny had failed to mention it. _Ugh. Why do I care?_ Besides, he highly doubted he would be able to keep up with some like Kenny’s friend- someone like **that** may eat him alive. He couldn’t say whether that was thrilling or frightening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History lesson: From about 1870 to WWI, there was an influx of Ashkenazi jews immigrating to America, which produced a wave of anti-semitism. Nipple piercings were popular in this era, mostly with women. But, fuck gender norms, like I'm _not_ gonna pierce Tweek's tiddies.
> 
> Songs  
> Penina: "I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked" by Ida Maria
> 
> Next chapter, Kenny introduces his friends to each other. I'm excited to get past the exposition so the secondary characters have more opportunity to talk :D


End file.
